


Gathered In Darkness

by SammyJo930



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 19:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11743977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammyJo930/pseuds/SammyJo930
Summary: In Thedas, mages are considered a bane to the existence of the land. But when a new Blight threatens to decimate Ferelden, a mage will take command and lead both the Grey Wardens and the world to victory.





	Gathered In Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my story. Kudos, comments, and criticism are always welcome and appreciated.

As dusk settled over the countryside. Lake Calenhad was alive with fish flopping within reflected hues of deep violet and bright orange. In the center of the lake, on a small island between the two shores, stood a tall stone tower. The structure held no windows, no exit or entry save a set of great double doors in the front.

Alistair folded his arms over his steel plated chest and relinquished a sigh. Two years had passed since he last laid eyes on that Maker-forsaken place, but it hadn't been long enough for his tastes. As one of the final steps to induction into the templar order, he was sent to Kinloch to attend the Harrowing of a young apprentice The entire ordeal left a bad taste in his mouth, bad enough for him to decide he never wanted to take his vows.

Unfortunately, he found leaving the templars a more difficult prospect than he imagined. Because he had been signed over to the monastery and the Grand Cleric's care when he was ten, he was bound to a life of servitude as repayment for the Chantry's benevolence. Grand Cleric Marcine employed guilt to keep him there, but he ensured everyone was aware of his unhappiness through flippancy and poor attitude.

His way out finally presented itself when he was allowed to compete in a tournament in Denerim. The tourney was a grand affair with the winner receiving both accolades and a chance to be recruited by the Grey Wardens. Alistair knew that being a Warden was dangerous, but he figured killing tainted creatures was a damned sight better than murdering innocent young mages.

When he failed to make it into the final round, he thought he was sunk. Fortunately, for reasons Alistair never understood, Warden Commander Duncan chose to recruit him anyway. The Grand Cleric refused to allow him to leave at first, but Duncan invoked the Right of Conscription. leaving Marcine with little choice.

"Any sign of him?" Daveth asked as he took his place next to Alistair.

The former initiate waggled his head. "Not yet. I was really hoping to be the void away from here by now."

"I know," Daveth agreed. "That tower gives me the willies."

The young Warden tightened his arms to his chest to drive away the chill in his bones. "You and me both."

Alistair ran his tongue across his lips as he considered what to do. Should he go ahead and set up camp for the evening or wait for Duncan a little while longer? The light was fading fast, and he despised the thought of pitching tents and gathering wood for a fire in the dark. With the commander gone, Alistair was left in charge of taking care of the recruits and making the important decisions. It was a role he loathed. In his entire life, he had never been allowed to make any decisions for himself, let alone anyone else. He was no leader, and he certainly didn't want to be responsible for the well-being of the two other men Duncan left behind.

The young Warden narrowed his lids, trying to discern any movement between him and the island, but it had grown too dark to see that far. An icy blast of wind ruffled his ginger hair and started his hazel eyes watering against the frigid Ferelden air. He wiped his frozen nose with the back of his gloved hand and sniffled. 

Jory appeared on the Warden's other side. "Alistair, do you think we could at least go into that tavern over there and grab and ale while we wait? It's freezing out here."

"Yeah," Daveth agreed. "My balls are so frozen, they've set up permanent residence in my ass. I'm pretty damned sure I'm going to be a woman if we don't get somewhere warm soon."

_Great. Now they're complaining again._

Alistair supposed he was out of choices. He had to make a decision. Would those two even listen to him? He shook his head with an exasperated breath. He really didn't want to do this.

"I don't know. I guess the first thing we should do is start gathering firewood."

Daveth scowled. "I'm with Ser Chunky. An ale sounds perfect."

The knight glowered at the thief. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? I'm not fat, I'm just wearing a lot of padding beneath my armor."

The rogue harrumphed "Yeah, and cutting Duncan's purse strings was a complete accident. My knife just slipped."

"Alright, that's enough," Alistair said in an attempt to diffuse the situation. "Don't you think we have bigger things to worry about right now? I know I'd rather not freeze to death. Duncan would find us here, bodies frozen to the ground. He'd have to pry us off the dirt with a paring knife. Nobody wants that."

Jory's face screwed up in a confused grimace while Daveth stared at the temporary leader like he was the biggest idiot in the world. They were expressions Alistair knew all too well. Because of his lame attempts at humor, especially when he was feeling overly nervous or reluctant to do something, most people considered him to be simple-minded.

_Good job, jackass. That worked brilliantly. Now they'll never take any orders from you._

Somehow, he had to find a way to regroup before his charges decided to go off to the tavern on their own and get them all in hot water. Although there were some in Ferelden who respected the Wardens, most people didn't trust anyone who wore the blue and grey. Grey Wardens were too secretive, too mysterious, but, worst of all, their appearance usually meant trouble was brewing on the horizon.

The longer he stood there in silence under the weight of their stares, the more he lost his grip on the situation. He needed to find a way to convince the two men to listen to him. But how? Especially when he'd have a difficult time obeying any orders from anyone like himself. Mercifully, his inner turmoil was alleviated by Jory.

"Wait, I think I see something moving in the water," the knight announced.

Alistair peered out over the water. In the thick fog he could just make out a dim glow moving toward them. It was the small ferry boat used to transport visitors across the lake. It had to be. There wasn't a device in existence that could have measured the young warrior's relief upon seeing that approaching light.

"Maybe _now_ we won't freeze," Daveth quipped, voicing the thief's lack of faith in Alistair's ability to lead.

The jab stung for only a moment, but Alistair could hardly blame the man. If Duncan hadn't returned that evening, there was a good chance they would have all perished in the cold. Either that, or the younger Warden would have been left to explain to the commander the reason his two recruits were gone.

_Thank the Maker for small favors._

On his way to the dock, Alistair wondered how many mages Duncan was bringing with him. The king sent word to Highever by raven that more were needed for battle. What would a company of the magically gifted say about having a former templar initiate in their midst? Perhaps a few of the Chantry knights were escorting the mages, and it really didn't matter.

As the boat finally came into view, Alistair recognized Duncan, but instead of a group of mages, only one lone soul was in the commander's company. A woman by the looks of it, thin with dark hair and large, bright eyes that reflected in the glow of the ferryman's lamp. She was young, maybe twenty at best, and, if it hadn't been for the angry expression she wore, Alistair imagined she would have been absolutely stunning. Most mages would have been terrified at the prospect of leaving the safety of the Circle to go off and fight darkspawn, but not her. She seemed more frightening than frightened.

When the vessel finally landed and was tied to the pier, Duncan stood and hopped up onto the wooden platform. Once his feet were on solid ground, he held out his hand to help the young woman out of the craft. Instead of accepting the commander's offer for aid, the mage simply arced a brow, grabbed the nearest post and pulled herself up and out of the boat. A small smile crept across Duncan's face at the woman's tenacity. She was definitely no delicate flower.

The Warden Commander turned to address the men he had left behind. "Gentlemen, may I introduce Solona Amell, the Grey Warden's newest recruit. 

* * *

It was late, well past suppertime, and the small forest on the north side of Lake Calenhad Docks was dark. Even the glow of the magical light in the mage's hand did little to penetrate the shadow. Alistair cursed under his breath when he tripped over the second stump since he and Solona were sent deeper into the glade for firewood. While the other three men pitched their tents, Alistair was made to gather wood as penance for not setting up camp before young Warden wasn't really sure why Duncan sent the mage with him to complete the task, but she was certainly no help at all. She made no effort to gather branches or twigs. She didn't even attempt to keep up with Alistair so he could see. She just walked along behind him, holding the orb in such a way that _she_ wouldn't stumble in the darkness.

_At least she's not complaining._

He had to find some redeeming quality in the woman, and it was the only thing he could come up with. Sure, she was beautiful, but from what he'd seen so far, that beauty didn't go deeper than her alabaster skin. Since joining them only an hour or so before, the mage hadn't said a word to anyone, only a small nod of acknowledgement to Duncan when he ordered her to follow Alistair into the grove. He would have given his left nut to have Daveth standing out there holding a torch instead of putting up with Solona's frosty countenance.

As he was stooped over to pick up a pile of twigs, a rustling reverberated from a clump of trees ahead. Whatever it was, it was large. Great bears were prominent in that part of Ferelden, and Alistair certainly didn't want to fight one of those in the dark. So, instead of drawing attention to himself by telling the mage to douse her light, he used his templar abilities to interrupt the flow of her mana.

A sharp gasp resonated from somewhere behind him, followed by dead silence. The warrior concentrated on his forward area, but heard nothing. He knew it wasn't his imagination. There was something there, and he was positive it had yet to move on.

He nearly jumped from his skin when he heard Solona's harsh whisper in his right ear. "Why didn't you mention you were a ruddy templar?"

He licked his lips before placing an index finger across them then used it to point at the thicket of trees ahead. His companion remained quiet for only a few seconds before waggling her head and turning her right palm out toward the copse.

A moment later the sound of broken branches and something heavy landing among dead leaves echoed through the air. Alistair held his breath, awaiting the backlash of the ruckus, but there was nothing. Solona called the glowing orb back into her palm then ambled over to the thicket where her spell hit, while the former initiate retained his hiding place.

After examining her victim, the mage turned to him, her brow arced with annoyance. "Is this what you were so afraid of? A little deer?"

Alistair made his way to her side and inspected the animal. It was a deer alright, a buck with at least twelve points to its rack, not exactly what he would have called a _little_ deer. He shrugged.

"I thought it may have been a bear."

"Can't you tell the difference?" she asked with a scowl.

"Not in the dark," he retorted. His tone was a bit harsher than he intended, but she was being unreasonably critical. "I heard a noise and it sounded like something big. It could have been a bear. How in the void was I supposed to know?"

The mage folded her arms across her chest. The expression she wore was one of bored impatience as she sucked her teeth at him. "I thought perhaps you were one of those men who feels he needs to prove his manliness by killing innocent creatures. You certainly look the part."

Alistair's brow furrowed in confusion. What in the bloody void was that supposed to mean? The two of them hadn't said a word to each other before he heard the deer making noise. He wondered if it was because she thought he was a templar. She was a Circle mage after all, and had been dealing with templars for a good number of years. Perhaps she was basing her assumptions on that.

"Look," he explained. "I'm not a templar. Alright? I was an initiate. I never got around to the part where I took my vows."

She shrugged. "I didn't say that because you were a templar. I said it because you appear to be a man of limited intelligence who has to prove his worth with less scholarly pursuits."

Alistair's lids fluttered as he considered her words. She just called him an idiot, in a very long winded manner, but she definitely called him an idiot. In the monastery, he had been taught to respect women, that they were the more delicate sex and therefore should be treated with kindness and tolerance. Solona, however, was beginning to push the limits of Alistair's patience.

"I'm sorry," she said after waiting only a few seconds for his reply. "Were the words I used too complicated for you? Do you need me to interpret them in simpler terms?"

"No," he huffed. "I got what you were saying…loud and clear."

"Good," she retorted. "Perhaps you're not as dense as I imagined."

The Warden inhaled a deep breath. Like most people, she thought he was a simpleton. She had known him only a few hours and already dismissed him as a fool. Maybe she was right. Maybe they all were. His agitation waned.

"Duncan's probably wondering where we are. Maybe we should head back to camp now."

She gave him a condescending, tight-lipped smile. "Sure. Whatever you say, Alistair."

He looked down at the body of the animal and grimaced. "So what should we do with this thing? I really don't want to have to drag it all the way back, but I feel bad just leaving it here to rot."

"It's not dead," the mage informed him.

"But the spell…"

"I appreciate that you think I have the power to kill anything with a single spell," she retorted. "But I know of no mage who could accomplish such a thing." He stared at her blankly, waiting for her to continue her explanation. "Don't they teach templars anything about magic except how to negate it?" When he didn't answer what he assumed was her rhetorical question, she rolled her eyes. "It was a sleep spell. I put the beast to sleep."

"Oh. Alright."

"Look," she seethed. "I'm very cold and I'm very tired, and quite frankly, I don't want to talk to you anymore. Now, can we please get back to camp before I have to light you on fire for some semblance of warmth? I'm sure you would make lovely kindling, but I'm afraid the smell would be more than I could stand."

Alistair pursed his lips, flourished a slight bow, and gestured for her to lead the way. She stomped forward a few paces, then turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. "By the way, if you _ever_ negate one of my spells again, you _won't_ live to regret it."

He gave a heavy, perturbed sigh then followed her to where the wood he had gathered earlier lay and scooped it up into his arms. Once his burden was secure, the two silently made their way back to the clearing where the others were waiting. The young Warden dumped his bundle next to a shallow hole someone had dug and began arranging the logs and kindling inside the pit. Once he was satisfied with the placement of the firewood, he used the flint and steel kit he kept in a pouch at his waist along with a good amount of dried grass to light it. Within moments, a flame roared to life.

"Thank the Maker," Jory said as he moved closer to the fire. "I was afraid we'd freeze before you returned."

"Sorry it took so long," Alistair apologized. "We ran into some trouble."

He waited for Solona to argue, to tell the others the truth, but she just stood there quietly warming her hands and staring into the blaze. At first, he was relieved she kept his secret, but upon closer observation, he realized she probably didn't hear the exchange.

As haughty and aloof as she had been up to that point, Alistair recognized something else in her as she studied the flame engulfing the wood he had collected. There was sorrow in her lapis blue eyes, a sadness unlike he had ever seen in anyone before. She was suffering from real emotional pain. Pain she attempted to hide with apathy and arrogance.

After a time, Solona's gaze finally turned to meet his, and he realized he must have been watching her intently when her whole countenance shifted. Her poignant expression changed to one of outrage as if he had uncovered a secret she never intended to reveal. Her nostrils flared and her lips curled into a sneer. She glared at him through narrowed lids for several moments before spinning on her heel and marching toward the area where the tents were erected and found her neatly rolled up shelter and sleep sack.

He stood by the fire for a time, observing her struggle with the large piece of canvas and the six poles of varying lengths. When she finally got so frustrated that she chucked one of the poles at Jory and Daveth's tent and caused it to collapse, Alistair decided it was probably time to offer his aid. He strode over to where she was trying to make sense of the canvas itself and emitting a string of curses under her breath.

"Need a hand?" he asked.

She turned her back to him and continued fussing with the large piece of material. "I've got it."

He stepped closer and put a hand to her shoulder. "Come on, just let me..."

The mage rounded on him with glistening eyes and tear stained cheeks. "I said I've got it," she hissed through gritted teeth. "Now leave me the fuck alone."

Alistair threw up his hands and backed away. "Sorry," he relented. "I was just trying to help." She returned to her task, but in her frustration, she was just making it worse. "Are you alright?" he pressed. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"Of course I don't want to talk about it," she seethed. "Especially not to someone like you."

Her shoulders lifted and fell with each heavy breath as her body trembled, and Alistair couldn't tell if she was sobbing or furious. Perhaps both. He circled to walk away. With her maltreatment of him, he knew he should, but he just couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

Wordlessly, he retrieved the scattered poles from the ground and put them together. Then, without waiting for her permission, he took the fastening straps from her fingers and began to tie them together. He expected she would snatch them from him, but she didn't. She just stood there in quiet observation. Once he was finished with that task, he straightened the corners of the canvas and folded it in preparation for the poles. Solona never met his eyes the entire time he maneuvered his way around the collapsed shelter, but she seemed more embarrassed than angry.

When the task was finally completed, Alistair moved to her side and placed his hands on his hips. He peered over at her from the corner of his eye. She straightened her robes and cleared her throat.

"Thank you," she said in a crisp tone.

"I take it you've never set up a tent before."

She scowled. "Of course I haven't. I've not stepped foot outside the tower since I was five."

Alistair was genuinely surprised by her admission. He was aware that some among the magically gifted were discovered at younger ages, but five? To be torn away from everyone she knew at such a tender age, it was no wonder she was so defensive.

"I'm sorry," he proffered.

Her brow arched haughtily, donning her mask of emotional aegis once again. "Don't be. I neither need nor want your pity."

"It wasn't about pity," he attempted to explain. "It's just that…well I just thought…" He waggled his head, vexed that he didn't know how to talk to the woman. "Never mind." He pointed to the larger of the poles he had assembled. "Grab that." She did as he commanded, and he threaded it through a long opening across the right edge of the canvas. "Now the other two."

After she passed one to him, he pushed the long spike at the end of it into the small hole in the ridge pole. "Now do the same to the other side."

She obeyed his order without argument and took the rod to the opposite edge. "Like this?" she asked as she buried the spike into the longer pole.

"Exactly," he told her with the hint of a smile. "Alright, in that small bag over there, you'll find some metal spikes and a hammer. Use the hammer to drive the stakes through the grommets at the four corners."

Solona worked quickly, burying each stake into the ground in turn. With the force she used to wield that hammer, Alistair knew she was taking out some of her fury and frustration on those spikes. He wondered what could have happened to her to fill her with so much rage and asperity at such a young age. Sure, she was a mage stuck in the Circle since she was five, that alone would be enough to make some people angry, but he couldn't help but believe there was something more to it than that. Much more.

When she was finished with the stakes, Alistair crouched once again and took hold of the leg pole in the front. He didn't need to say a word to Solona. She simply followed his lead by grabbing the other. He gave a terse nod, and the two of them lifted the poles upright and buried them into the ground almost simultaneously.

Alistair stood and dusted off his hands. "There. All set."

Solona brushed the dirt from the bottom of her robes then wiped her own hands clean. There was not even a hint of a smile, but Alistair thought he recognized a semblance of gratitude among all the darker emotions swirling within those lapis eyes. When she spoke, however, her tone retained its usual indifference.

"I appreciate your aid."

"No problem." He flashed a lopsided, boyish grin. "I hope you were paying close attention. Next time I expect you to do this all on your own."

It was a joke of course. He would have helped her anytime she needed, but the narrowing of her eyes told him he said the exact wrong thing. She glared at him for what felt like an eternity. His face grew hot in the frigid night air, and he swore he felt beads of perspiration forming along his hairline. Just when he was getting ready to call on his templar abilities to protect himself from the spell he was certain she was about to throw at him, her face took on a contemptuous expression. She crossed her arms over her chest and rested her weight on her right hip and leg.

"In case you've already forgotten," she began, her voice dripping with sarcasm and ice. "I never asked for your help. You volunteered your services and time without any prompt from me. The only reason I allowed you to aid me was because I realized I probably demoralized you earlier with my words and injured your male pride. I know how those of your sex can feel inferior if they are demeaned by a woman. Therefore, I felt the need for atonement. I determined that you must have _some_ redeeming quality, and, judging by your muscle mass and limited intelligence, I concluded that you are probably better suited for manual labor. My only hope is that I have now made up for my earlier transgressions."

Alistair wanted to lash out at her for the insult. He wanted to scream at her, tell her what a bitch she was, but he just stood there staring into her eyes. Once again, he recognized the things she was attempting to hide-the pain, the anger…the fear. He placed his hand over his heart and pouted.

"Your words wound me, dear lady. Just look at me, my pride bleeding onto the ground." He feigned a sniffle and wiped the corner of his dry eyes with his gloved fingertips. "I'll never be the same again." He held out his fingers for her observation. "See? Tears. Real, manly tears. You made me cry. Now aren't you ashamed?"

Solona tried to hide it, but Alistair caught the hint of a smile on her lips. She rolled her eyes, but her countenance had softened.

"You're a ruddy fool," she told him. "You know that, don't you?"

He shrugged. "I tried to get a job as a court jester in a nobleman's house once, but I was told I was overqualified."

A small chuckle escaped her mouth, which she attempted to cover by clenching her lips between her teeth. He wasn't sure they would ever be friends, but he was grateful for the fact that he had managed to put a small crack in that icy shell of hers. No matter how minuscule, at least it was progress.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, trying to maintain the momentum. "Because if you are, we have a lovely selection of hardtack and dried pork."

She wrinkled her nose. "That sounds utterly unappetizing."

"No, it's great," he argued. "And the tack is multi-functional. You can either eat it or use it in a slingshot to pick off bandits. The stuff I had yesterday could have knocked an ogre down at a hundred paces." He rubbed his hand across his midsection. "Settled in my stomach like a brick though. I don't think I'll be able to shit for at least a week."

Then it happened. She laughed. Not a giggle or a chortle, but a true, unhindered laugh. For the first time since he met her, Alistair realized how beautiful the woman really was. For that fleeting moment, she was free of her emotional turmoil and actually let herself go. Perhaps having her there wouldn't be as much of a challenge as he had imagined. Maybe they could actually learn to get along. _I_ _f_ she managed to survive the Joining.


End file.
